


almost blue

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-'Maveth', Prompt Fic, Season/Series 03, skoulsonfest2k16, the Playground's kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5837044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy and Coulson after "Maveth".</p>
            </blockquote>





	almost blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrilliantlyHorrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/gifts), [notcaycepollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/gifts).



> I don't really know what this is because it's pretty melancholic. I wanted to be realistic though. Hope you like it!  
> (Also, I know this isn't really shippy, but I hope it's still possible to read it as romantic, because that's totally what I did.)
> 
> Written for the #Skoulsonfest2k16. The prompt I used was [LATE-NIGHT CHATS].  
> (I was totally going to write a fic for [DOUBLE LATTE] and after two pages I realized that wasn't going to happen.) :)

Life at the base hasn’t exactly been Candy Unicorn Wonderland lately. Sure, that’s due to the fact that there’s a revenant going around wearing Ward’s face, but that’s not the only reason why things haven’t been too peachy during the past few weeks ... well, months.

Daisy’s been building up a team of Inhuman agents together with Joey; she’s sort of always dreamt of going on road trips with Coulson to recruit awesome Inhuman people, but it seems that reality wants her to invite potential S.H.I.E.L.D. newcomers with extraordinary powers to the base and interview them (to be precise, she’s letting Joey interview them and sort of just stays in the background during conversations, only helping out whenever Joey hasn’t been inside the organization long enough to provide a satisfactory answer).

It’s not that she doesn’t like doing work with Joey, because she actually loves it. She’s surprised to realize that he’s the first person in ages with whom she’s actually able to be bubbly. Not just herself, because there are some people next to whom it’s just awesome to cook beyond-elementary canned ravioli or madly run your thumbs around shooting enemies while being slumped across a couch in impossible positions - _bubbly_. Of course, she’s never been the overly talkative, overly cheerful kind – but what she’s learning from teaming up with Joey for recruitment is how to be cheerful without having to worry about probably not making a professional impression on someone. 

It’s also pretty much Joey’s uniquely huge motivation to get work done what keeps her going at the moment, to be honest. Sure, she’s always been quick to do ‚the right thing‘, the good work, the work that has to be done, but it’s been different recently. She’s still in, of course she is, but ever since they (well, she) first opened the portal, everything’s changed.

And believe it or not, Daisy’s never been one for huge changes. Not to state the obvious, but her younger years have confronted her with so many different and challenging – and constantly changing – situations that she’d always been pretty sure were going to be the last big change to be happening for a while. Now – after having lost her parents and discovered her powers, after struggling to find out if she was still Skye or maybe someone different who deep down was still the same person, after Coulson losing his hand and rearranging the organization, after the whole ... mission in space and Mack being appointed Director – she feels like things are never going to stop changing. Like there is never going to be one moment of silence, one moment of constancy for her to breathe out properly.

There never seems to be an opportunity to adjust to what is going on. She gets that the work she’s doing is important and the thought of giving up never really even crosses her mind. But she’d give so, so much in exchange for a small break. She’s not going to ask for one. But even when she’s with Lincoln, all he talks about is either work or how Inhumans‘ rights are being stomped over. It’s not that he isn’t right, because he mostly is, okay, but if she’s being honest, she’s always hoping for half an hour of cuddling without rather one-sided conversations about politics or future social justice or how Mack could be better at doing his job or how Fitz is such a hero. If she’s being honest, she’s always disappointed after spending time with him, and she’s always disappointed at how he never agrees with her (not really anyways), but always makes her verbally acknowledge his point. 

Maybe relationships just aren’t for her. Hey, it’s not like life’s ever proven her otherwise. And she’s not talking about sex here, that’s something that’s always worked out one way or another, mostly because Daisy – just like Skye did – always knows what she wants, and always knows how to separate bedtime from actual commitment. No, this is about being with someone and actually being able to bear the weight of another person pushing your life around. Because that’s what romantic partners tend to do when they’re with Daisy: tell her where to go, what to do and how to do it. Also, who not to do it with (Lincoln is particularly sensitive when it comes to missions Daisy could be sharing with Coulson. She’s actually pretty sure that’s where getting teamed up with Joey stems from, because Joey is the only guy on the team Lincoln doesn’t seem to see as a threat). 

And it’s not like any of her past relationships have worked out too well (that’s why they are a thing of the past, so yeah). She’s sort of sick of thinking about Miles; he was one of the very okay guys, she guesses, but he’s been on her mind far too often lately – not the ideal version of a boyfriend, not at all, but at least he showed some respect towards her talents, like he wouldn’t touch her code or tell her how to improve her skills even when there was a possibility for her to expand her knowledge, and that’s more than she can say about Lincoln. Bobbi thinks she doesn’t notice, but actually, Daisy’s overheard her calling him ‘Mr. Bland’ when talking to Hunter or Mack several times. And she doesn’t feel like she’s got it anywhere in her to blame her for it. 

Lincoln seems to think though that everything a relationship conflict needs is some _intense_ cuddling (like cuddling involving loads of tongue and hands everywhere Daisy’s got no ambition whatsoever to navigate them to). She gives in most of the time, and they end up having sex in all the normal places, like in bed or on the couch or in the tub. It’s supposed to take some weight off your shoulders and send your mind flying through all the good places, but more often than not, Daisy finds herself thinking about mission files or strategic timetables, or just about putting some milk into the microwave.  
She really doesn’t want to go there, but sometimes, she compares Lincoln’s behaviour to how she imagines Coulson would behave when in a relationship. She knows a bunch of things about Audrey, but to be fair, that happened before Tahiti, and she feels like she’s doing Coulson wrong by even considering he might behave the same way now. Also, she’s seen him with _Rosalind_ and that’s something she very badly wants to unsee. Catching her when she fell is something she still dreams about; actually, she dreams about Price falling and then getting shot through the window, bloodstains all over Coulson’s shirt, Coulson throwing his hand into a white desert. She doesn’t really dare to imagine what Coulson must be dreaming about.

Speaking of which, it’s not like she can’t hear the sounds he makes when he’s sleeping, now that him and Mack have swapped bunks and Coulson’s sleeping in the bunk next to her. She knows May’s often there to sit next to him because all Coulson seems to need right now is someone to be there and not talk to him, but somehow, that doesn’t keep him from crying out while asleep at least once a night. In the beginning, it instantly wakes her up, making her sit up straight in bed, resist the small annoyed noises Lincoln makes and not lie down until Coulson hasn’t made a sound for a few minutes. Now, a few weeks later, she wakes up at random times during the night, knowing she heard Coulson cry out something at an earlier moment, not remembering if she did actually open her eyes then. 

It’s a Thursday when Lincoln leaves, and the saddest thing about it is that she finds that she’s unable to feel a sadness that’s related to their relationship ending. She’s full of sadness, yes, but he was neither the cause nor the cure, just one facet of it, too light and too heavy at the same time; she feels unbearably sad, filled to the rim with an ache she’s not sure is definable, with something that causes her some sort of soft, but persistent pain but can’t be grasped, can’t be explained to anyone, not even the tired young woman staring back at her from the mirror before she applies just a tiny bit too much makeup to her pale cheeks. 

Weirdly enough, his absence doesn’t make her ability to fall asleep neither better nor worse. She’s staring at the indirectly, very dimly lit ceiling for what feels like being trapped in some kind of boxed eternity, just like she has been doing every night during the past two months. Coulson’s still making noises in his sleep; he’s stopped crying out and gone from single (though barely recognizable) words to just really, really loud sighs.

Whenever she meets him during work or in the kitchen or in the hallway, though, he doesn’t look like there’s anything particularly off about his well-being. Understandably – and that’s something everyone agrees on – he hasn’t found a solution for his somewhat undefined role at the base yet, just as he hasn’t for his hand, either. He’s going through different prosthetics at a rate that makes everyone lose count. That is worrying, of course, and Daisy has been worried ever since the damn limb first came off, but the more time passes, the more disturbed does Coulson seem to be with the lack of it – or with the lack of an adequate replacement. 

He’s still always accomplished all the tasks he’s been given; he seems to have so much respect for Mack and the work he does that sometimes, Daisy is questioning herself about the way she speaks to _the Director_ during work, because even though there’s no doubt she appreciates everything he does tons and tons, she’s wondering if the way she talks to him might be just a little bit too casual. He never comments on it, though, and she’s not sure if he’s indulging her or if he simply doesn’t mind. 

She knows May is looking out for Coulson the way she always has, and actually, everyone on base has been a little careful with him every since he returned without his robot hand, very considerate, muted somehow, like when it’s snowing and you’re wearing a woolen cap and you almost, _almost_ can’t hear your own steps. 

That’s how the next time she meets him in the kitchen, opening the fridge for milk when he almost-tiptoes in (it’s about four-thirty in the morning and the ceiling has been staring back at her for hours), she’s not sure how to address him, if she should try and open an awkward doorframe-type conversation or just greet him and place the mug in the microwave the way she always does.  
He looks so tired, and Daisy thinks it’s the first time his night-time sighs are actually visible on his face. With his grey pants and grey sweatshirt, he almost blends into the background, his body and the faint blue kitchen tiles one and the same, his bare feet making him look far too small altogether. She just freezes there, a mug of cold milk in her hand, her heart getting stuck in her throat at the sight of him looking just a little lost, weirdly too young for what he’s been through. 

It takes him a moment to realize she’s just standing there waiting for him to do something because she doesn’t make one sound. He tries a tiny smile, and she returns it a little too quickly, holding it for a time that’s just that little bit too short, puts down her mug, forgetting to close the microwave.  
“Hi.”  
His voice is so raspy that she’s convinced he hasn’t really been using it lately.  
“Hey.”  
She looks at her toes, her bare feet trying to hide inside her pajama’s legs.  
“It’s been a while.”  
She just nods; he seems to wait for a moment, then goes to sit on one of the kitchen’s red plastic chairs, pulling up one of his feet, away from the cold floor.

“Warm milk, huh?”  
She looks a little startled. “’Twas going to be, yeah. Don’t know. It’s not like it’s helping.”  
There; he’s smiling – really smiling. For a moment.  
“Hasn’t done me any good lately, either.”

He seems to be contemplating something, and she makes use of the moment of silence to join him on the plastic chair facing him, unconsciously half-mirroring him by hugging her knee.  
“I’m sorry,” he says after a while; strangely enough, he doesn’t have to explain what he means. Lincoln’s been gone for more than a week now; the sadness is still lingering on, and while she doesn’t think about him often, whenever she does, he seems connected to this aching, this foggy feeling that’s had her in its grasp recently.

“Thank you. You don’t have to be.”  
“You were ... together.”  
She lets out a short sigh, and he can’t tell if there’s also some sort of tiny smirk framing it or not.  
“We were. At least, we thought we were.”  
His eyes present a question.  
“Turns out sharing a room and a bed and ... a relationship is not the same thing as actually letting someone fill out half of the life you always thought would have to be only yours.”  
Coulson’s nodding silently; she supposes he’s thinking about Audrey, but doesn’t ask.  
“He was talking to me all the time, you know? I think he ... filled me up to such an extent that I felt kind of ... I don’t know. I don’t think I felt small, but I felt like he was taking up too much space. All the space.”  
He’s studying his fingertips. “I know.”

And she feels oddly comforted by just these two words. She knows this is nothing compared to what their relation once was, compared to what it was right after her transformation, compared to what it was when she first experienced the pain of strong vibrations, compared to what it was when they’d just met; but she’s missed him, she’s missed his minimalistic comment, she’s missed his knowing smirk, missed the way he always took her worries far more seriously than his own.

“I can’t sleep. Haven’t really been sleeping since ... you know.” His voice is still raspy, and it makes her angry; she feels angered by the fact that nobody’s really made Coulson _talk_ since he returned, by the fact that even though she’s been sort of right next to him all the time, she didn’t think of how he might just need a very simple conversation, an exchange of just a few words other than mission language.  
She’s not sure what to say. “I know. I ... actually know.” He looks up. “Your bunk is next to mine.”

He looks incredibly haunted at this, and she’s about to apologize, but what he does is touch her upper arm, very lightly: very _very_ lightly, and she suddenly feels so weak, her limbs just sinking and sinking and the rock that’s been blocking her chest pulling her towards the floor. Suddenly, she breaks into tears, very noiseless tears, and they are dripping onto her knee, leaving little dark-blue dots on the fabric. 

He seems a little alarmed, but doesn’t pull his hand away; instead, he leans a little closer, his other arm covering the table, running his fingers up and down her arm within mere inches. He expects Daisy to cover her eyes or lower them so that she won’t feel compelled to look at him, but they meet his, the thin red lines just below them something he suddenly recognizes having seen too often lately.  
It doesn’t take long; after a few minutes, she rises, gently taking his hand and lowering it onto the kitchen table. The tears are gone; she produces a very small smile, whispers something of a ‘thank you’ and the smallest of sorries, then tiptoes back to her bunk.

He stays for just another moment; it’s like her mug of cold milk is looking at him, like none of all this would have happened if she’d just put it into the microwave and left for her bunk with it.  
He’s actually come for milk, too – it’s something his mother always told him to drink at night whenever he couldn’t find sleep at all –, so he just takes the mug even though the milk’s cold and it’s her mug, and tiptoes out of the kitchen, forgetting to turn off the tiny lamp above the stove.

Careful not to clink it against anything on his bedside table, he sets the mug down as he’s climbing into bed, looking at it, trying to make out the pattern on it even though the bunk’s not lit at all; the only light to be seen stems from the digital alarm clock next to him. He’s sort of floating away a little; it’s not really sleep, he’s pretty sure he’s still aware of what’s happening, but it has to be better than being actually awake.  
A knock on the door startles him, and for a moment, he’s not sure what it was. Before he can really sit up, he sends a small ‘Daisy?’ floating across the room, hears the door open and close and bare feet tiptoe into his direction. He can’t see anything really; there’s the shape of a person, Daisy’s shape, but it’s more of a coincidence that he’s able to tell it’s her, more of a gut feeling he’s trusting. There’s a small red shadow on her hand as he reaches for the nightstand to make out where not to bump into, then it’s suddenly gone, and she’s sort of stepping over his body to lie down on his bed, next to the wall. She’s tugging at his sheets and he lets her pull them towards herself, baring his leg.

There’s a small moment of silence where he only hears her breathing evenly, and he doesn’t dare to move for fear that she might have fallen asleep; then, through the dark, she speaks, voice very small: “I really want you to sleep,” and it means she doesn’t want him to not sleep, she doesn’t want him to cry out or talk in his sleep; she wants to make sure he doesn’t sigh while he’s in bed. It makes him smile a little, and he knows she hears that because she takes his hand.

When he wakes up, she’s gone, the sheets beside him a mess, her socks at the end of his bed. He rubs his eyes, and for the first time in quite a while, they don’t feel sore. A little amused, he reaches for Daisy’s mug on the nightstand; the milk’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Almost blue  
> Almost doing things we used to do  
> There's a girl here and she's almost you
> 
> \----------------------------------
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Hope you liked it even though it turned out a little sad. I've been pretty sad today and listening to Chet Baker made me better, even though I'm still in a really blue mood, and so I named the fic after the song after I'd written it while listening. It's not really connected, but then I thought the lyrics were actually not that far off from what I'd written. :)


End file.
